


Promise me you'll always come back home

by tired_walnut



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Cara | CaptainPuffy, Mentioned Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Tommy can sew, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, but i don't want to, i should stop writing at one on school nights, march streams simply do not exist here, micheal in the future probably, no beta we die like something that's dead, puffy taught tommy how to sew pog!, the character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29917374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tired_walnut/pseuds/tired_walnut
Summary: Tommy makes a promise at age eight to his older brother that he would always come back home. Eight years later, Tommy can't keep this promise anymore, he has no home to go back to anymore. His hope of a home is torn to shreds, and all he has to fix it is a needle, thread, yellow fabric and memories.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 1
Kudos: 66





	Promise me you'll always come back home

Tommy had been eight with bright eyes and the belief he was on top of the world when Wilbur made Tommy make a promise. The promise was that Tommy would always come back home, no matter what that might be. Tommy had told Wilbur “But you’re my home!”

Wilbur had only smiled, “Then always come back to me, but always have a second home incase I’m not around. Just promise me that you’ll have a home.”

As he grew up, it was a promise he looked back on fondly, he didn’t need a second home because Wilbur would always be by his side. But now? Tommy was sixteen when he sat with tears in his eyes looking down into one of his blown up homes. He had tears in his eyes because he had no home anymore, Wilbur was gone and everywhere else he had as a backup home was destroyed and Tommy couldn’t help but blame himself for it. 

Tommy had no home, and he believed it was his fault. A man with brown hair and soft brown eyes would have weeped if he saw his brother in this condition, crying over the place he built for the boy that was only destroyed. Alas, he couldn’t. 

Tommy had tried so hard to keep up his promise, even after Wilbur had gone. He desperately grasped at straws so he didn’t feel like he let down a man in life and in death. He tried too hard, and now he had nothing. He had no home, no Wilbur, and no family that he would still call his. 

All he had was a crater, where he pulled grass from the ground and threw them in, watching the blades fall slowly with nothing to disturb them, desperately wishing he would be like them. As he cried, he would watch the tears sink down as well until they were so far out of sight. 

It was midnight, Wilbur once taught Tommy how to tell time through the moon and sun. Wilbur taught him how to track the stars until he found the North one. “Tommy, if you ever get lost, follow the North star home, I’ll be waiting for you at the end of it.” Tommy had half a mind to get up and start following it until the sun rose and he could no longer see it, but kept on moving. The thing stopping him was that the star would lead him to Techno and Phil’s house.

Tommy once called that place home, but that didn’t work out well. It seemed as though Fate never wanted him to have a home, dangling it infront of his eyes and ripping it away at the last minute. 

Fate did that a lot, it seemed, as Tommy watched a few blades of grass get pushed away by a breeze that stopped them from reaching the bottom where the red vines grew from. The damn red vines that made a mockery of the land that used to be great.

This used to be home, but it wasn’t. Perhaps it was never a home, perhaps he only called it that because Wilbur called it that, and Wilbur was Tommy’s home.

In the end, Tommy had no home. He had no one, he had nothing but his dirt shack that smells horrible when muddy. That was just a place where he kept his stuff, most of his time was spent avoiding it. 

“Are you happy, Wilbur?” Tommy called out into nothing. “Are you fucking happy?” Why was he asking this? Wilbur was dead, and WIlbur seemed overjoyed enough about his death. “Are you fucking proud about what you left? About how you died? Did you just hate me that much? Did you hate all of us? Come on Wilbur! Just answer me. Please… please just answer me.” Tommy burst into gentle sobs at that last part. If Wilbur answered him, it meant Tommy still had a home.

“I can’t… Wilbur I can’t keep my promise anymore. I promised you I would always have a home if you weren’t here, but I fucked it all up and I have nothing. I… I wished… I wished I made you promise that you wouldn’t leave,” Tommy threw more grass in the crater, it still smells of gunpowder, there were small bits of either skulls scattered across the sides and bottom. 

“You had said you were proud, but I don’t understand how anyone could be proud of this. Of me.” 

Tommy sat there, on the edge of his destroyed country with no home to return to and grass stains on his hands wrapped in his brother's jacket as the full moon cast a bright glow on him.

It was peaceful, the most peaceful he had felt in a while and he liked to think that it was because he wore Wilbur’s jacket with a L’manburg patch sewn in. Tommy remembered spending days on it, proudly presenting it to his brother who smiled widely and handed Tommy the coat to stick in the patch. 

Unknown to Tommy, this patch was the reason that Wilbur wore the jacket in the end, because it held something that his brother made for Wilbur and only Wilbur. 

Sewing was a skill Wilbur didn’t know where Tommy had picked up. Tommy never told him of the midnights he would sneak out of their lonely cottage to a nice woman in the village named Puffy who would teach him how to harness his energy into a needle and a thread.

From there, after Puffy had left for the seas and left Tommy with a sewing book, Tommy only improved. He had a reason to, it was more than just harnessing his energy.

Tommy noticed Wilbur would get stressed a few months after Phil’s departure and Tommy kept growing and didn’t fit him and they had to use the money normally saved for food on constant clothes. Tommy learned so he could resize his own clothing and Wilbur’s. It was worth the blood if it meant Wilbur rested easier at night because they didn’t have to spend all their money.

Sewing was a comfort, something that reminded Tommy of home. Tommy hadn’t sewn in so long, not sensing he stayed up late for three weeks making the L’manburg uniforms so they would fit perfectly on each member.

Tommy threw in more grass, interrupting his own monologue. Maybe he could sew some more when he got the materials, he wanted to show off to Puffy, who recently arrived. Tomorrow, maybe. 

Right now Tommy would throw grass into the pit of the nation that was never meant to be as a breeze ruffled his hair like his brother used to do. But Tommy wasn’t good at sitting still.

He sighed when he smelt rain in the air, his hut would get muddy and wet but at least his bed was in a dry spot. He walked along the prime path, his feet made no sound.

It was eerie, under a full moon at two am while it was about to rain. He remembered nights like this, when Wilbur would wake him up excitedly and the two would sit on the roof, smelling the rain. Wilbur always carried Tommy inside those nights, and Tommy always slept in Wilbur’s bed.

The boy chuckled, everything reminded him of home. Sewing, rain, the nighttime. It reminded him of a home he could not go back to and it hurt so much. 

He pushed open his door, walked in and somehow ended up with fabric, thread, and a needle in his hands as he sat in front of the Jukebox, Cat playing as he stitched. 

It was a mindless task, it took no brain power and was quite relaxing. He didn’t know what he was making, he never poked himself, just sat there as Cat played and tears fell from his eyes.

\--

He finished at seven pm after working through the morning. He would regret it when he woke up, but right now he held it in front of him as no tears fell from his eyes, he had run out of them. 

In his shaking hands, he held a pennon flag. It had random things sewn into the yellow colour. Tommy knew what all of them meant. An orca, guitar, hot pocket, a harmonica, the old L’manburg flag, a stick of dynamite, a group of bananas, a shitty clock Wilbur was always fond of that never lit up. All things that represented Wilbur, it was finished off with a sign saying ‘Home Home’ in the middle of it.

Wilbur and Tommy made that sign together, it represented that they were each other's homes, just two boys.

Tommy’s hands shook from exhaustion, it had been years since he made the uniforms, and this was the first and biggest project in a while. And it made him smile. It filled him with such pride, such joy and it made him feel, if only for a second, that Wilbur was with him. It made the pain in his hands worth it, what he would give to see that smile again.

That smile fell quickly though, as Tommy realized he could share this with no one who would appreciate it’s beauty, Wilbur would have taken it and never let it go. Others would make fun of Tommy’s hidden hobby that would remain hidden.

Tommy had never felt so alone. Tommy had nothing, he had no one. He had no home, and it seemed as though he never would. 

So, he pocketed the pennon. It made him feel as though Wilbur would always be there. He went on, as he always did. 

He did not stop to ask a simple question: When he could no longer go on, when he needed to rest, where would he go?

He could not go home. He had no home, Fate was not that kind. He was Sisyphus in a way, doomed to forever push the rock uphill.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a plan for this when i started writing it and I feel like it should have gone to when Tommy was stuck in the prison for a week, but two days later I decided that Tommy would sew. Go me. I am a firm supporter of the headcannon (is it actually cannon?) that Tommy can sew and you can fight me about this. Follow me on twitter for random thoughts https://twitter.com/tiredwalnut1


End file.
